Those Looks
by a quirky little tune
Summary: Eiri stays by Shuichi's bedside in the hospital, as both his lover and as the person who drove him over the edge. YuShu, attempt at suicide


**Those Looks**

* * *

You hate how they look at you. Pity and guilt and frustration and accusation. You think it's sickening. You can't stand it, can't stand them, can't stand anyone or anything.

You really don't have much patience left for the idiotic human race any more, do you?

Heh, you're at the point where you can't even group yourself with them anymore, aren't you? Am I really human, is what you ask.

What a rhetorical question. No. No, of course not. Because if you were, you wouldn't have those... those damn _looks_ focused on your being. You're used to a lot of looks, Eiri- looks of adoration, of love, of irritation, of hurt. But these... these looks, you know you can't handle.

You fucking hate them. It's as simple as that. You hate all of them.

And- and you hate this hand that you're holding in your own right now. You hate how it's so fragile and so clammy and so goddamn _limp _and _lifeless_.

You hate that _you're_ reason it's like that.

You can't deny it. It's so fucking stupid. You're so fucking stupid. Way to go, Eiri, you've made the world a more shitty place, once again. And you've significantly screwed up the one good thing going for you, _again_. This was all you. _All you_.

No one else can take the blame that's rightfully yours, not this time buddy.

And oddly enough, you don't want anybody else shouldering this blame anyway. It just seems right, like you were waiting for it, like the missing link from your _perfect_ life, and you don't want anybody else having it. You just knew you were going to screw up with this piece of heaven, didn't you, Eiri? You knew it. You were waiting for the slam of heavy guilt and torture and pain to fall onto your shoulders after things were sufficiently messed up between you and him, and now that it's finally here, you don't want it going anywhere anytime soon.

You want it to be there, to remind you. To remind you how much you don't deserve nice things. How much you don't deserve to live. How much you deserve all the pain you're going through.

Because you did _this_, Eiri, and no amount of shutting your eyes and playing fool will ever make it right. Look at him, goddamn it, look at him, and look what he did for you, and look at what it gave him.

A hospital bed. An oxygen mask. Tubes. IVs. Flowers you're allergic to but keep there anyway because they're _his_ and because other people would think you insensitive if you were to throw them away. Chocolates that are melted and squished and too sweet for your tastes, although you secretly steal a few when no one's looking because you know he loves that type of shit. Tons of tears. Crying. Sadness. Pain. So, so much pain.

And what does he get from _you_? A bitter smile, a hell of a lot of anger, frustration, self-loathing, and reluctant adoration. Is that what he deserves, Eiri? Hell no, and you and I both know it, but do you do anything to remedy this?

No.

Because it's not your _style_, am I right?

You'd rather wallow in the pain you're so familiar with, Eiri, instead of pushing yourself out into the open and trying to fix it. Would you rather drown in pain you know rather than get stung with pain you haven't yet experienced? You're a _fool_, Eiri, a _fool_.

And he loved you anyway. It wasn't something fake, you know that. He loved with every bit of his being and it was all directed to you. Well, you and his music, but sometimes the two intermingled and it would be the same thing anyway. And he was damn persistent.

He complained about you not loving him all the time. It seemed he was focused on getting you to love him- poor kid, didn't know he was taking on the impossible, didn't know he was signing up for a suicidal mission. But he nearly succeeded, didn't he? He melted your walls, didn't he, Eiri? And that's why you're sitting here, being subjected to those looks you hate so much, sneaking chocolates you loathe, and leaving the flowers that drive your sinuses crazy.

Funny how you put up with all the crap you wouldn't have put up with just a week ago and yet when you finally do- and for him, no less- he isn't even conscious to witness it, or at least hug you for your troubles.

Yes, go on and sigh so tiredly- like this is some stupid fucking chore that you just want to get over with so you can get your allowance soon. Totally disregard this living, breathing, warm, human being that has cared for your ass for the past four years, laying so still, not really living anymore, barely breathing- and with a mask-, and not so warm from the starched and stiff mattress and sheets.

It wouldn't be any different from normal, now would it?

He tried so hard to show that you weren't the nuisance of life like you thought you were. And here _you_ are, proving him that wrong, that you _are _a nuisance.

He had seemed so happy, didn't he? He seemed almost invincible in a spiritual kind of way. He seemed so unflawed, so impervious to your caustic words and indifferent actions.

Heh, those bandaged wrists of his say differently.

Can you believe how big a fool you are, Eiri? Can you honestly admit how much you've screwed up this time? No, you can't, because there are no words to describe this.

And it hurts even more. Because you know if you apologize, he'll forgive you like that, and this sick cycle will continue on and on. You think about doing the right thing, sometimes; about letting him go, for good, so this never happens ever again.

But you're selfish. You know that you need him to function, need him to breathe, need him to sleep, need him to stay alive. And you know when he wakes up, the first thing that will spill from your lips will be an apology. It will be unheard of, but you'll just be so relieved that you won't care for that moment, and nonsensical words will fly from your mouth, pouring out as if a dam had broke.

He'll regain some of that breathtaking sparkle in his unforgettable eyes, but not all of it. And even though he'll forgive you, cry with you, kiss you, _love_ you, you can't help but feel miserable because you still killed a little part of him; hell, you're _still_ killing a little part of him. And you wonder.

How many more parts will you kill before there are no more?

It hurts, doesn't it?

You don't deserve him, Eiri. He bumbles around, acts like the kid of the century, writes sappy lyrics, and annoys you to no end. He eats pocky all the time, touches your laptop when you tell him not to, gives the plants too much water, sings his songs loudly in the apartment, steal all your blankets when you let him sleep with you, has insane friends in that weird band of his, and constantly reminds you of things you don't want to be reminded of. Yet...

_Still_,you don't deserve him or his love.

But those damned looks you hate so much, those looks that reflect that hatred right back to you, those looks that pass you the blame and the anger, those looks that show how badly they feel for you, those looks that tell you that they _know_ how you're slowly killing him but don't have the power to stop you...

You think you might just deserve those.

You are a nuisance of the heart, after all.

* * *

_Sorry for the cursing, m'dears, it tumbled out. Please critique and praise as you see fit._

_A bit of Eiri angst never hurt anyone... (wait, what am I saying?). Forgive me, Shu-chan, for making you suicidal! XO  
_

**II **


End file.
